Caillean completed the sentence. “Older? More dignified? I have been with Lhiannon since she brought me from the western shores of Eriu. I was four-and-ten or thereabouts when we came to the Forest House, and I have been there now for sixteen years.”
“Do you know my kinswoman Dieda?”
“Certainly I do, but she dwells with the maidens; there are many of us, and we are not all of one order. Now that I see you, I understand – but that is for later. Let me speak now to your sister.”
Eilan led her to Mairi, now so pregnant that she moved with difficulty, and withdrew a little to give them some privacy. She could hardly hear the low murmur as Caillean questioned Mairi at length. There was something soothing in the quiet lilt of the priestess’s voice.
Eilan could see the tension leaving Main’s face, and realized for the first time that her sister had been afraid. She did not flinch as Caillean pressed her belly with her long hands. When she had done, Mairi lay back with a sigh.
“I think the babe will not be born today, and perhaps not tomorrow. Rest now, lass, for you will need all your strength when the time comes,” Caillean said soothingly.
When Mairi was settled again, Caillean rejoined Eilan near the fire. “Is it true that her husband has disappeared?” she asked in an undertone.
“We fear he was taken by the Romans,” Eilan replied. “My father warned me not to mention it to Mairi.”
For a moment Caillean’s gaze went inward. “Do not, for I fear she will not see him again.”
Eilan looked at her in horror. “You have heard something?”
“I have seen the omens, and they bode not well.”
“Poor Mairi, poor love. How shall we tell her?”
“Say nothing now,” Caillean counseled. “I will tell her myself after the birthing, when she will have reason to live for her child.”
Eilan shuddered, for she was fond of Mairi and it seemed to her that the priestess had spoken of death just as she spoke of life, without feeling or regret for either. But she supposed that to a priestess, life and death must mean something quite other than what they meant to Eilan.
“I hope she has menfolk to care for her children’s inheritance,” Caillean went on.
“My father has no sons,” Eilan said. “But Cynric will do a brother’s duty to Main if there is need.”
“Is he not the son of Bendeigid?”
“A foster son only; we were brought up together; he has always been very fond of Mairi. He is away in the North now.”
“I have heard of this Cynric,” Caillean said, and Eilan wondered just how much the priestess did know. “And indeed your sister will be in need of kin.”
That night a new storm came whirling in from the west, and Eilan, waking in the night, heard it beating around the house like a wild thing; when morning came, the trees were still blowing and tossing before the blast. But though a few handfuls of thatch were plucked from the roof, the roundhouse only groaned and shuddered before each new gust of wind, where a more rigid structure might have given way. The rain still fell relentlessly, but Caillean, staring out into the downpour, looked pleased.
“There are rumors of raiders from the coast,” she said when Eilan questioned her. “If all the ways are flooded, they will not come this far inland.”
“Raiders?” Mairi echoed, looking frightened. But Caillean would not repeat herself, saying only that to name an evil was often to draw it near. By early evening the worst of the wind had blown itself out, and the weather settled to hard, insistent rain, leaving all the world awash with the sound of water, and of springs and cisterns overflowing. Fortunately there was a good supply of wood cut and stacked in a shed near the main house, so they built up a cheery blaze and Caillean unwrapped the small musical instrument she carried swaddled like a child. Eilan had never known a woman to play a harp; she herself had been beaten as a child for touching her grandfather’s.